Shattered Perceptions
by Bmp14
Summary: Life is as precious as a mirror; easily bright but easily shattered.
1. Introduction

Life is as precious as a mirror.

In one moment, you're staring into the mirror, clearly focused on your future days. Such as today, when your task was to fetch eggs from the market for your one and only. It was quite a dreary day, raindrops fell from the ebony sky like missiles; but you were too focused on getting your breakfast for the light of your life.

In another fleeting moment, the mirror is blurry, and you're forced to focus on what's solely in front of you. Just like how you nearly got the wrong eggs- but you didn't. You got the small brown eggs your love adores, and trekked back home. However, you took your eyes off the road in front of you for a second- just one second- because your phone rang, with a hopeful caller on the waiting end.

And in another fragile moment; the glass shatters, throwing you completely off course. Such as today, as the tinkling of glass breaking and the sickening crunch of metal, echoed in your ears. The smell of broken eggs and blood- your blood- soured the air. You had lost your way, as your eyes close, and the world became silent.


	2. Telephone

_You never truly get used to waking up to an empty bed._

Not after having someone there for all that time; someone to hold your hand when you're just beginning to doze off, someone to run their fingers over your skin, causing goosebumps to form along your body, someone to press kisses to your cheek every morning so that the two of you can watch the sunrise together. Knowing that there is someone else there with you, someone who is willing to look passed every little thing you dislike about yourself, someone who is willing to l _ove_ you. You feel invincible. Maybe you are. I thought I was. Undeniably and unexplainably invincible. That was, until I picked up the phone that morning.

You never really think about the power of a phone call. It has the potential to bring you all the light and love in your life; to have the love of your life on the other end giggling mercilessly while you picture her hair up in a ponytail on top of her head, tiny strands of the blonde hair flying with the warm air blowing through the vents in the car. On the other hand, it could bring your world crashing down around you; you hear those giggles for a couple of moments when you make a joke about the brown eggs, but then suddenly, wordlessly, all you can hear is screams, crashes, thuds.

And then silence.

You truly never think of the power of a phone call.


	3. Supernova

She waited for what felt like ages.

Cold, black shame was weighing on her chest, engulfing her lungs and the ability to breathe properly.

The hospital around her was chaotic; lives beginning and ending, tears of heartbreak and joy ever flowing, retracting energy and giving energy to the building at the same time.

She let the noise and movement rush over her until she couldn't hear anything else, couldn't feel anything else but the hospital's ever flowing energy.

She stood in the middle of it, like a rock taking a beating from the waves that battered, hit and smashed it, all while loving every minute of it.

That is, if rocks felt things, which they can't.

So Emily Prentiss became a rock.

* * *

 _The first time Emily met her, her mind was so taken aback by the beauty, that it only remembered one thing._

 _They were at work, and she was flipping through endless files._

 _Emily didn't hear her walk up, or her words, she just saw her fingertips wrapped around those Manila folders._

 _Her nails were painted with stars. Little, yellow stars._

 _A whole unknown universe on each delicate finger._

* * *

Emily didn't know how long she was there for.

It felt like ages, centuries, lifetimes.

Stars imploded and were reborn.

New planets formed and died, while a supernova of shame grew inside of her.

She thought rays of bright light would shoot from her fingertips as they were pressed in her lap, firm and unforgiving.

Her fingertips joined the other galaxies of whirls and swirls.

Trapped in time.


	4. Sunshine

_Just as JJ reached for the eggs, a wave of nostalgia bathed over her._

 _It was like those super sunny days- the ones that come out of nowhere._

 _Where the every slant of sunshine bursts through the window blinds, warming up whatever they touch. Not too hot, just right._

 _The days where you can feel the sunlight burning against your face._

 _Burning in a good way._

 _Like if you could light inside fireworks- and not get burned._

 _The spilled flower dusting the counter, glowing with crystals of sugars and the vanilla stains from the teaspoon on Emily's shirt. The savoury taste of semi sweet chocolate chips made the inside of her feel just like those fireworks._

 _Just like that slant of sunshine._

* * *

When I first opened my eyes, it was the sun that caught me by surprise. My hand ghosted over the white sheets beneath me, the tips of my fingers running feeling each of the fibres. It caused my lips to curl up into a small grin, my nose releasing a loud huff as I inhaled some of the stuffy air. The scent caused me to twitch at first, but I soon adjusted and exhaled deeply.

Suddenly, an indescribable pain pounded from one temple to the other, and I instinctively lifted up my hand. As soon as it made contact with the tender skin just above my eye, I jumped and something landed against the smooth top of my hand, gently tugging it down from where there were obviously stitches laced through my skin.

At first, I didn't know how to react. I just stayed still and allowed for the other presence to lower my hand for me. Once again my fingers embedded into the sheets, only this time I realized just how coarse and uncomfortable they truly were. I had no idea where I was… No idea.

Suddenly, it hit me.

Where the fuck _was_ I?

My eyes opened and all I could see was pure, white light. That was it. There was no differentiation between anything in the room and I was terrified. Was I dead? No. It was much too painful for me to be dead. Was I dying? Honestly, I could have been. Where was I? What had happened? Why did my head feel as though it was about to explode?

Immediately, my hand squeezed the sheets as I attempted to lift my head from its position on the very uncomfortable pillows. Bright. It was so goddamn _bright_ . When finally my vision began to clear up, I looked down and spotted my blonde hair in waves over my shoulders, streaks of red and dark brown from the dried blood creating patterns throughout the strands. My eyes followed these patterns down over my shoulders, to my ribs where the tips laid limply against the fabric of the gown I was in. It was almost mesmerizing in a sense, and I could not take my train of thought away from these streaks of blood. They wove themselves seamlessly as though attempting to hide their presence with the way they intertwined with the streaks of blonde. Innocent. Crimson. Brown in some cases. But whose blood was it? Was it mine? Of course it was mine, I had stitches across my fucking forehead.

Suddenly I snapped back into it, my mind shifting back to the realization that there was indeed another person in the room with me. I turned my head to face a brunette woman, her eyes as brown as dark chocolate itself staring back at me. In embarrassment, I looked to her, my eyes never once leaving her as she sat and looked at me in concern. Without meaning to, I looked to her in confusion, my baby blues searching for something for _anything_ to tell me who this woman was.

It took me a few moments to come up with enough courage to actually speak to the woman seated in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to my uncomfortable hospital bed. A hospital. I was definitely in a hospital. My mind immediately clicked and I offered a sigh of relief, my lips parting to release it into the air. I then flashed her a small smile, my blue eyes looking dead into her brown ones as I spoke the simple statement.

"Are you here to take some more tests, ma'am?"


	5. Journal

_I really don't know what to believe anymore. They told me to keep this damn journal to log in everything; thoughts, moods, feelings, people, names, anything to "bring me back." What the fuck does that even mean? Bring me back? As far as I'm concerned, at this point, I am who I am. I can't change what happened. Hell, I don't even know who to believe anymore at this point. New faces every damn day, poking me with needles, asking me questions, telling me who I am. Everyone is different every single day. Occasionally, there will be nurses or doctors that come in twice a day, but then I don't normally see them again for quite some time. They just sort of leave._

 _Except for this one woman. She is here every day as soon as I open my eyes and she stays until they close again. From the time the sun rises in the morning to the time it sets, she's sat here writing on sticky notes and putting them around my room._

 _You are Jennifer Jareau. You are 38 years old. You grew up in East Allegheny, Pennsylvania. You graduated as the valedictorian of your class. You played on the varsity soccer team. You were captain of that team. You graduated university and applied for an internship at the FBI. You work for the Behavioural Analysis Unit in Quantico Virginia now. You are Jennifer Jareau._

 _Blue, yellow, purple, green. Almost every other colour under the sun was plastered in random areas around my room with these sayings on them all in the same handwriting. I truly am grateful for her trying to help me, but I really can't remember a damn thing. Not even one thing. She calls me something besides the name Jennifer, though. Most people who aren't nurses that come to visit me don't refer to me as Jennifer; it's JJ. Interesting… The woman who stays here all day says it's a nickname from the Academy and it's stuck._

 _Shit… What's her name again…_

 _Emily? I think it may be Emily."_


	6. Pages

My eyes scanned over the page, the familiar scrawl of the blonde laying in the bed covering most of the first quarter of the notebook. The doctors had been clever in telling her to write everything down, even the smallest thing could trigger her memory to be recalled even in the slightest.

That's what they had said, although I haven't seen any progress being made.

Not yet anyway.

So every night at around 9 o'clock, just before designated bedtime, I would leave JJ's room so that she could write down her thoughts, how her day had gone, what she had learned, and if we got lucky that day, maybe even a memory or two.

We hadn't been quite that lucky yet.

I was willing to wait. Without a doubt, I was willing to give Jennifer Jareau all the time in the world if it meant that I would be getting her back. But would I truly be getting her back?

Immediately, I shook my head, my raven hair swiping over both of my shoulders as though attempting to brush away the mere thought. I loved that woman. I always had and I most definitely always would. We made a promise to each other to look after and love one another until the day we died. Until the day that Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss were no more.

Unfortunately, at this point, Jennifer Jareau was buried deep within the woman who sat on the hospital bed day after day; the woman who was attempting to relearn everything about who she was.

They truly did give me a fair warning when it came to the journal. Caution particularly surrounded the mention of who I was, why I was there waiting alongside her bed for any sign of a breakthrough. The doctors told me that JJ had no idea who I was.

Still.

It tugged at my heartstrings in the slightest to hear these words, but I just was not seeing what was being told to me. Every day when I went into the hospital room, the one that was now covered in bouquets of flowers that caused the room to have a hint of every colour of the rainbow from the lovely Garcia, baskets of her favourite foods from Rossi who was the one in which JJ would speak to in regards of what to make for dinner on any given day of the week, the generous stacks of books that littered the tile floor from Reid, a laptop with all of what were JJ's favourite movies downloaded right onto it from Morgan, and cards that were hand drawn by Jack and accompanied by letters of condolences on the back from Aaron.

All I had to offer, however, was myself.

Nothing materialistic could be given from me, Emily Prentiss, to Jennifer Jareau in that state. Everything that I would have given her would have resembled us. It would have been us. From handwritten notes with little quips to cups of coffee with double cream and three packets of sugar, just the way she liked it; I couldn't even get her bouquets of red roses, which she used to think were so cliche, but we both knew that they were undeniably her favourite.

I wanted so badly to bring her the photos that she had once set as her backgrounds on her phone and computers, the ones of us, as a couple, smiling from ear to ear no matter the location. The ones in which her fingers were always wrapped around a cup that seemed to be of steaming coffee, but we both knew that she much rather preferred hot cocoa over coffee. But she wouldn't know any of that right now. So all I could leave her was the little sticky notes around the room, surrounding her in facts of who she was.

When I opened the journal for the first time, I couldn't help but to give a small smile. JJ had just left the room to shower, and once I heard the water pelting the ceramic bottom of the shower, my hand slid under her pillow to grasp the journal that I knew she kept. Normally, Jennifer Jareau would be humming away in the shower, her sultry voice accompanying the pounding of the water against her skin, the condensation appearing against her and disappearing only to be replaced again. My neck craned and I tried my hardest to catch even the smallest of hums escaping the washroom. No luck.

I merely skimmed over the first few pages because I knew that I did not have much time before Jennifer would be back out to me. Truly, I did care about those first thoughts after the accident, but I wanted to see where she was at now. I wanted to see what Jennifer Jareau had to say about now. About what was going on right now.

 _Shit… What's her name again…_

 _Emily? I think it may be Emily._

As soon as I read those words, a bubble of anger began to bubble in the pit of my stomach. My hands gripped the journal a little too hard, my chewed fingernails digging as best it could into the leather front cover and the page containing the heartbreaking statement ripping slightly in the centre.

How was this fair even in the slightest?

Jennifer's eyes never lit up like they used to; every morning the blonde used to be up only a few moments before myself, but I would find her standing in front of the window stretching. As soon as I would speak, JJ would practically prance her way over to the bed, leaning over top of me to press a gentle and sleep laced kiss to my lips, and during this moment I would catch sight of her eyes. The baby blues that had reeled me in from the first sight I caught of them. They sparkled, literally, in happiness and glee and bliss and content and _love_ .

Love for life, love for a new day, love for comfort.

Love for _me_.


End file.
